


a minute with you is better than two without

by sharoncarters



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharoncarters/pseuds/sharoncarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a college student is rough when your neighbor curses like a sailor, keeps odd hours, gets no sleep, and is determined to drag you down with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a minute with you is better than two without

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this post i saw on my college's yak a million years ago 

If you're gonna be somebody's heartbreak,  
If you're gonna be somebody's mistake,  
If you're gonna be somebody's first time,  
Somebody's last time,  
Baby be mine

-Hunter Hayes, Somebody's Heartbreak

 

* * *

 

“FUCK!”

Steve lets out a groan, rolling over in bed to grope for his cell-phone. He blinks a few times to adjust to the glowing screen, eyes focusing as he reads the time. Bucky rolls over in his bed across the room, oblivious as always. Bucky could sleep through anything, even an earthquake (he had, once, their freshman year, and Steve had given him endless flack for it). 

5:30 AM, as always. She’s punctual, he’ll give her that. 

There’s another bang, another loud “fuck” and then the click of a door opening and closing. Steve sits up in bed, letting out a loud sigh. There’s no way he’s going to fall back asleep now. 

 

* * *

 

All Steve wanted out of college was to get good grades and leave as fast as possible so that he could finally go to law school. And for a while, it was going great. 

He and Bucky found a great apartment complex to live in, splitting the rent and signing a lease for the first two years of school. It wasn’t the fanciest place, but it was clean and quiet and Steve could count on getting his work done there whenever he wanted. 

That is, until a new resident moved in and disturbed his quiet, albeit rather boring, routine. 

It’s not that she was annoying, because she wasn’t. Steve was just a little worried about her, is all. Over the past few months there had been an increasing number of screams of frustration, loud curses like the ones he hears every morning when she wakes up, and general chaotic sounds coming from the apartment next door to his. 

Steve wonders if maybe she hasn’t realized how paper thin the walls are yet. He wants to knock on her door and tell her, maybe, but he’s too shy and she’s gorgeous and he wouldn’t have a clue where to start even if he did. He and Bucky, despite Bucky’s outgoing personality, don’t tend to make a lot of noise. Bucky never brings girls home, preferring to go to their places instead, and Steve hasn’t had a date in years. 

It’s not that he can’t get one, because he could, if he wanted to. He’s been working out more since college has started, and he wasn’t the scrawny loser that he used to be in high school. On the outside, at least. On the inside was a different story. He still hasn’t been able to conjure up the confidence that Bucky seemed to possess since he was born, so Steve stays quiet, mostly observes his new neighbor from afar. 

Besides, it was sort of amusing and sort of worrying at the same time, the noises. It was nice to know she was alive, in a way. He just couldn’t help but wonder, every time she yelled like that, if she was okay. Or if he could do something to help.

 

* * *

 

Despite the weird connection that they seem to have (or that Steve likes to think they have, at least), he doesn’t actually see her much. She’s an early riser, even though she seems to absolutely hate the fact, and she’s usually gone before Steve gets ready for the day. And Steve’s always ready for the day early. He usually has to drag Bucky out of bed with promises of free pancakes, waffles, bacon, the works, just to get him out of bed. And even then, sometimes it still takes at least two hours to drag him to class afterwards, despite Steve having been up since five-thirty in the morning.

There’s a flash of blonde hair here and there, loud curses (which he won’t admit are some of the best parts of his day, mostly because they’re so loud and unexpected), a slam of a door. He sees her on campus occasionally, but never works up the nerve to actually talk to her. 

They met, briefly, when she had moved in — before her morning routine had somehow become a staple in his life. He’d noticed the moving van, first. It wasn’t big, certainly not as large as his and Bucky’s had been, but Sam’s dad owned a moving company and they’d gotten a favor. Hers was a small white van, a few boxes, nothing else. She’d been with a guy about their age, probably older, sporting a beard and wearing a suit, which Steve had thought was very impractical seeing it at the time. He had assumed it was her boyfriend, which made him wary of approaching her. Steve wasn’t that good with women to begin with; he had absolutely no idea how to talk to women when their boyfriends were present. 

Still, he had introduced himself; offered to help her move her things in. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she was, even in the August heat; hair pulled up, slightly sweaty. She’d been leaning against the van and had raised a teasing eyebrow at him, lips curved in an easy grin. Not the way Steve thought girls acted when their boyfriends were around, but what did he know? 

“I’m Sharon,” she’d said. “Nice to meet you.” She put out a hand for him to shake, and Steve did, and he’d thought that her hand was probably the softest thing he’d felt in a long time, despite the rough calluses on her palms. From boxing, maybe. She looked like a girl who boxed. And then beard guy had walked out, complaining about Sharon forcing him to do all the heavy lifting, and Sharon had laughed; a warm, musical sound. Steve had stood there, dumbly, wondering what it was like to be that confident, that cool, in the presence of someone like her. 

There hadn’t been much interaction since.

 

* * *

 

Steve sees Sharon at the library a lot. It’s not like she’s unfriendly. Even when she has headphones on, she always waves and smiles when she sees him. Mostly he’s alone, sometimes with Bucky — when he can actually get the guy to study. Sam’s there a lot too, working most of the time, but when he’s not working he’s either studying or training with the rest of the ROTC. The guy never stops, and it’s really inspiring. What’s not so great, however, is when Sam and Bucky team up against him, especially when Sharon’s present for it.

Bucky shows up, spots Sharon, and gives Steve the shadiest fucking grin that Steve’s ever seen in his life, followed by a low wolf howl, all before he even sits down. Steve lets out a pathetic groan, burying his head in his hands, praying to whatever deity exists in this miserable world that Sharon hadn’t heard it. 

He tries to concentrate on Rawls, burying his head in the book of political theory, but Bucky’s taken his phone out, viciously texting, and Steve can’t help but glancing over at Sharon. He has no idea what she’s even majoring in, but she has a ton of books spread out all around her, some thick and some thin, and all he wants to do is go over and just talk to her. Why does it have to be so hard? 

After a few minutes, Sam pokes his head around the stack of books to the left of the table that Steve and Bucky are occupying, a ridiculous smirk on his face. Sharon’s head is buried in a book that Steve can’t see from here, so at least Steve is saved some embarrassment. Sam’s _supposed_ to be working, a cart of books parked somewhere behind the stacks that Steve can’t see, but it’s clear that he’s conspiring with Bucky instead.

“Go talk to her,” Sam mouths incredibly slowly (Steve’s not great at reading lips, which has lead to many a fiasco during classes he’s had with his friends), pretending to shelve near them, and Steve viciously shakes his head. Bucky nudges his side. 

“What’s the harm, Steve? She obviously likes you. Just give it a chance.” Steve can't even begin to comprehend that sentence, because there is no way a girl like _that_ could be attracted to a guy like him. But before Steve can respond, Sharon’s abandoned her book, making her way over to where he and Bucky are sitting. _Shit_. Shit, shit, shit. She probably heard them. Steve wants to disappear or melt, whichever is more possible in this moment. 

“Hey,” she says softly. They are in a library, after all. “Do you guys mind watching my stuff?” She gestures to the three empty cups of coffee near her things, ones that Steve’s missed because he was staring at her like a creep. He can feel the blush moving down his neck and wills it to go away. “I’ve had too much coffee,” she explains with a rueful smile. 

Steve doesn’t know what to say, and his brain panics. The only thing that he can focus on is a strand of hair that’s escaped her bun, curling along the back of her neck. 

“No problem,” Bucky offers her, and Sharon smiles in thanks, still looking at Steve. _Please end me_ , he pleads silently into the universe. 

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out as she leaves, and she scrunches up her face at him in amusement and confusion. He lets out a pathetic whimper when she’s out of sight, collapsing on the table. Bucky pats his back a few times. 

“There, there, pal. Maybe one day you’ll actually be able to string a full sentence together.”

 

* * *

 

He registers Sharon’s loud “fucks” before he hears the loud screeching sound. She’s been told about the fire alarms, surely, but that doesn’t stop her from cursing up a storm anyway. He hears a loud crash and hopes that she hasn’t hurt herself, before throwing the covers off and grabbing his phone.

It’s three AM. Someone’s pulled the fire alarm, that’s the only explanation, because a routine evacuation wouldn’t happen this late. Or early. Whatever. 

It’s November, it’s going to be cold, so Steve grabs his blanket before he wakes Bucky up. Bucky grumbles, turning over, but Steve shakes him a few times before he gets the message. 

Sharon’s already outside by the time Steve and Bucky stumble their way down the stairs. Steve’s only wearing pajama pants, but at least he’s had the foresight to bring his blanket. Bucky’s only in his boxers, shivering, so Steve hands it over. Steve looks at Sharon again, her image finally settling in his sleepy brain. 

She’s in a tank-top and tiny shorts, arms crossed over her chest. Steve can’t help but rake his gaze over her smooth legs, covered by such a tiny scrap of fabric. He has to turn away for a second to calm himself down, but she’s already seen him. Sharon makes her way over, rubbing at her arms, and gives Steve a wry smile when she’s standing next to him.

The police have made it to their building, finally, and they’ll be inside hopefully within the next fifteen minutes. 

“Fucking unbelievable, huh?” Sharon starts, gesturing to the cops and shivering again. Steve wants to wrap his arms around her, to warm her up in other ways, but it’s not his place. Her boyfriend is noticeably absent. Steve wonders where he is. A late night at the office, maybe? Suits like that don’t buy themselves. 

He gives Sharon a polite smile. “Did you let your boyfriend sleep through it?” he asks, keeping his voice light, and hopes that he doesn’t sound too bitter, because that would be the end of his life as he knew it. Sharon’s brow crinkles, trying to understand what he’s said. 

“My boy—You mean Tony?” she asks him. “Beard, suit, barely taller than me?” Steve nods. Sharon frowns, studying him. “Tony’s not my boyfriend,” she tells him. “He’s family. Well, basically family. I’ve known him since I was a baby.” 

Steve’s hand finds the back of his neck and, not for the first time, he feels like an absolute idiot around Sharon Carter. “Sorry, I just. I assumed, when I saw you moving in. Sorry.” 

Sharon waves a hand, dismissing it. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.” Before he can say anything else, a police officer makes his way over to them, and that’s the end of that. He’d missed his chance, _again_.

 

* * *

 

Steve hasn’t had a proper conversation with Sharon besides the occasional “hello” in at least a few months, until they end up in the same class together. He needs one more English class to finish off his gen-ed requirements, and by now he’s realized that she’s an English major.

He’s early to class, he’s _always_ early, when she walks in, iced coffee in hand. He doesn’t know if it’s an every morning thing, the coffee, but he wants to know. Sharon brightens when she sees him, raising her coffee in salute, and makes her way over. Steve honestly can’t believe his luck. 

“Hey,” she grins, sitting down next to him. Sharon places her coffee on the desk, leaning down to get her back set on the floor, “fancy seeing you here.” The coffee’s starting to slip down the slightly slanted desk that she’s chosen, and he darts out to catch it as she’s sitting up, before it spills all over her lap. “Oh my god,” she laughs. “You can’t believe the amount of times that that’s happened to me. You’d think I’d have learned by now.” 

Steve laughs with her, letting her get her grip on the drink back, and it’s easy. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s barely eight in the morning, or the fact that she’s wearing sweat pants, but he’s talking to her and it’s fine. It’s _good_. 

“Have you taken Professor Fury before?” Sharon asks him, and Steve shakes his head. 

“Just trying to get my requirements done. You?” 

“Oh, yeah. Fury and I go way back.” She snorts. “Just kidding. Not really. I’ve taken a class with him before. He’s a harsh greater, but he’s a genius.” 

The door opens once more, and a person who is obviously the professor walks in, looking around. There’s still about fifteen minutes left until class starts, making it very clear that he’s a professor who doesn’t mess around. There’s sort of an unwritten rule around here that professors come to class last minute, giving students time to mingle or finish their last minute work, instead of watching them from the front of the classroom. 

Fury looks around and notes Sharon’s presence. She’s taking a sip of her coffee, but she smiles at him when she swallows. 

“Miss Carter,” he greets, voice betraying nothing. He sounds neither happy nor angry to see her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Have a good summer, Professor?” she asks, and he gives her a nod, going back to his process of setting up.

 

* * *

 

It’s incredible just how intelligent she is. Steve’s way out of his element in this class, but it’s easy enough to follow along. They’re apparently the only two people in the class who actually _did_ the reading, and Steve is grateful that he hadn’t put it off last night. Sure, the class is early in the morning, but that would’ve been stated when they were choosing classes last semester. It’s not like these kids don’t know what they’re in for.

Professor Nicholas Fury, or “Nick”, as he’d asked everyone to call him, hadn’t even started the class with hard questions. They were simple — who did this, name the characters, how did the story end, and yet there was dead silence from everyone but him and Sharon. Sharon fearlessly answered every question after it was clear that no one else was going to. She’d started to look sheepish towards the end, her raised hand closer and closer to her shoulder instead of actually in the air, but the professor had no choice. 

Steve had answered a few questions, and so had the professor himself, when even Sharon was getting too embarrassed to raise her hand. "I know you know, Ms. Carter," he'd said, at least three times. "Anyone else?"  He’d ended the class looking extremely disappointed with the rest of them, giving Sharon a professional nod while the rest of the students made a hasty escape. 

Steve lingers behind, waiting for Sharon to gather her things. “Do you have any classes after this?” he asks her, hands wrapped around his backpack straps, like this is high school all over again. He doesn’t look like the same Steve he was in high school, but he feels it. God, does he feel it. “Want to get breakfast? Er,” he looks at his watch, “a really early lunch?” 

Sharon smiles at him, and something blooms in his chest, a feeling of warmth that finds him whenever he’s near her. “I’m so glad you asked that,” she tells him. “I’m literally always hungry, and my coffee buzz ran out like, five questions into class. Those kids really know how to light up a room, don’t they?” she quips, and Steve laughs (too loud, too awkwardly), rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. 

“It might get better,” he offers as they walk out of the room, but Sharon’s shaking her head. 

“It’s a gen-ed class. Not a lot of English majors in there,” she explains. “They’re not going to do any work up until the first exam, and by then it’ll be too late to drop, which is when they’ll finally make an effort.” 

“He’s that bad?”

Sharon shrugs. “He expects things out of his students. The most important things being that they read and actually make an effort. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.” 

“Imagine that,” Steve jokes. “Doing work in college.” 

Sharon snorts, hiking her back up on her shoulder. “I thought it was all just parties and sex.” Steve’s heart does a backflip.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, hear me out,” Steve starts. Sharon looks up at him from her spot in the beanbag chair that she’s brought out into her living room. Steve’s occupied the couch, long legs stretched out, while they both read for class tomorrow. He’s piqued her interest.

“What’s up?” she asks. 

“God, this is going to sound insane,” he says with a half-assed laugh, hating how weird and awkward he’s being. He’d thought that now that they were friends, he would be over it. But he’s not. He’s so head over heels for her that there’s no way that he can be cool about this. 

“Spill, soldier.” He can’t help the tug at his lips at her absurd nickname for him. He’s nowhere near in shape enough to be a soldier. Sharon flips over on her stomach, chin in her hands, looking over at him. 

“Did you know that the walls in this building are paper thin?” he asks her, and Sharon shrugs, noncommittal.

“Not really. Is that a big deal? I’ve never heard you or Bucky, if you’re worried. You guys are cool neighbors.” 

“No, it’s not me—”

“It’s you,” Sharon interrupts, laughing at her own joke. 

“I mean…”

“No way! Am I loud? I don’t even do anything but watch Netflix all the time!” Sharon buries her head into the beanbag. 

“You curse all the time,” Steve tells her, trying not to laugh along. “Like, really loud. ‘FUCK’ at least twenty times a day. And you drop things all the time. So many crashes.” 

Sharon’s shaking with it now, her intense laughter, and when she looks back at him tears are streaming down her face. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m _horrible_.” She bursts into laughter again. “That’s so embarrassing. I hate mornings, but I guess you already knew that.” 

Steve smirks at her. “Mornings are the worst. You wake me up every day, did you know that?” Sharon’s lips are trembling with her effort to keep it together. 

“I am so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay? No more loud cursing in the morning, I promise.” 

“That’s okay,” Steve tells her, face suddenly hot. “I like it.” Sharon’s eyes catch his, a look in them that he can’t place. It’s so quiet, he doesn’t know what to do with it. Steve finally looks away, breaking the spell. Sharon coughs and picks up her book again.

 

* * *

 

The laundry room isn’t Steve’s favorite place in the building, but at least it’s quiet. Steve likes to stay down there, sometimes, while his clothes are spinning, just to have some privacy. When he makes his way down there on a Friday night, though, he hears Sharon’s familiar voice and knows that that won’t happen. Not that he cares.

“Shit, fuck. Motherfucker. I explicitly told you _not_ to do this,” she’s cursing when he walks in. Sharon has her back turned to him, facing a washing machine full of pink clothing. Steve tries and fails not to laugh. 

Sharon jumps, spinning around to face him, a fuchsia bra clutched to her chest. 

“Steve Rogers!” she snaps, not at all serious. “How dare you sneak up on me like that!” 

“This is a public space, Carter,” he grins, loving the way that her lips slide into a grin at his pathetic jokes. “Nice bra, by the way.”

“Shut up, you’re the worst. I didn’t even have anything red in there this time, I _know_ I didn’t. This laundry room has a vendetta.” 

“Or maybe you just can’t do your laundry. C’mere,” he motions to her, and Sharon lets out a dramatic sigh, gathering the rest of her clothes and dumping them back into her laundry basket. She drags it over to the table that he’s sorting his own clothes on. “Let me see.”

Sharon slides the basket over to him with her foot and leans an elbow against the counter. Steve tries not to stare at her legs as he leans down to sort through her basket, looking for the culprit. He lets out a bark of laughter when he finds it. One sock with a red heel amongst all of Sharon’s whites, tangled together with a pair of her underwear. He hands it over to her, hoping that he’s not blushing. 

“Oh my god,” she whines, grabbing the sock out of his hands. If she noticed the underwear, she blessedly doesn’t say anything. “Rude.” Steve doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, really. Sharon just looks so adorable, her hair tangled around her shoulders, the curls droopy from the wear of the day. She’s hopped up on the table, swinging her feet, and he just wants to. 

“Go out with me,” he blurts, and Sharon looks up at him in surprise. “On a date,” Steve continues, his hands fumbling with a t-shirt. “Wherever you want, just—”

“Okay,” Sharon tells him, placing a hand on top of his to make him still. “Yes.” 

“Yeah?” he breathes, amazed, surprised, in awe of her, always. The other day in class she had gone on about the symbolism in the novel that they were reading, something about signs and fate and destiny, and he thinks that this is it, right now. He’s never wanted to be with anybody but her.

 

* * *

 

Sharon invites him over to her apartment for coffee. Their date had gone well. Amazingly well. Sharon was the only person that Steve felt like himself with, besides his friends. He felt like he could tell her anything, and maybe he would. He wants to.

“Which means sex, if you didn’t know,” Bucky explains. “Coffee means sex.” 

Steve’s heart had almost bottomed out right there, sitting at his desk attempting to write a paper. “No, it doesn’t,” he insists. And really, his objection means nothing, because he doesn’t know a single thing about dating. Especially in college. Steve turns to Sam. Sam’s reasonable, he’ll tell Steve that Bucky is lying. 

Sam just shrugs instead. “Dunno, man. It sounds like sex to me.” Yeah, he’s toast.

 

* * *

 

They’re sitting on Sharon’s couch, and Steve is sweating. He just wants to hold her hand, mostly, but then she’d know that he was sweating. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he just keeps sipping his coffee. Which is amazing.

Sharon did, in fact, drink coffee every morning, Steve had learned early on into the semester. She makes really, really good coffee. They sit in silence for a few minutes before Sharon turns the TV on, and then moves to face him. Steve swallows another large mouthful and places his mug on her coffee table. 

Sharon’s biting her lip, and he wants to know what she would do if he just leaned over and did the same. 

“Are you nervous?” Sharon blurts, running a hand through her hair. “Because I’m nervous.” She lets out a small laugh, a breath of fresh air. Steve’s heart is racing. “My friends kept telling me that coffee means sex.” She’s rambling. It’s adorable and intoxicating at the same time. “But I mean, you know I love coffee, so I didn’t think— well, I mean, it could be, if you wanted it to be, but I know that that’s not why you came, right? Because—”

Steve leans over and kisses her, just like that. His friends would be proud, he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind, but instantly forgets about it, because Sharon lets out a soft sound of surprise, leaning closer to him and fisting her hands in his t-shirt. 

He reaches out and wraps his arms around her, one at the base of her spine and the other curved around her neck, and Sharon whines an appreciative sound. She wraps her arms around his neck, climbing into his lap. He’s hard already, he can’t hide it. He’s wanted this for so long, _fuck_. He can’t stop thinking about it, about her. She’s everywhere. Her fingers stroking the back of his neck, her breath mingling with his. Her chest pressed against his own. 

Sharon pulls away for a second, Steve’s nose brushing her cheek. They’re both breathing heavily. Steve can’t stop himself from touching her, his right hand slipped underneath her t-shirt, running up and down her back. Sharon’s smiling down at him. 

The TV is suddenly incredibly loud and irritating. He reaches around her for the remote, to turn it off. 

“I didn’t invite you over here just to have sex,” she says, embarrassed. She has no reason to be. If anything, Steve’s the one that should be embarrassed. He’s basically a virgin. (He had sex once, to get it over with, and it was awful. He felt nothing, couldn’t get hard, and the girl was impatient and kicked him out afterwards. He didn’t want to think about it ever again.) 

Sharon’s gorgeous. He tells her so, because his brain isn’t functioning correctly. She smiles, bites her lip. Steve remembers her original statement, and attempts to piece a sentence together. “I didn’t come here for that either. My friends said the same thing, though.” He waits a beat. Sharon’s hands are fiddling with his hair. “We don’t have to, really. Anything you want.” 

“Anything I want?” she teases, her hands moving towards the collar of his shirt. Steve shudders when she grinds against him. 

“Mhm,” he rasps, and it’s amazing and terrible, the things that she can do to him with one touch. She presses her lips against his, quickly. Steve moans into her mouth, the hand under her shirt spanning her back, rocking her against him. 

“Off,” Sharon breaths around his mouth, tugging at his shirt. He’d seen her eyeing it from her small kitchen while she was in there, her eyes darting up and down his arms, and he’s glad he wore it. He’s even happier it’s off. 

Sharon runs her hands up and down his chest before leaning in to kiss him again, her hands grasping at his shoulders. She’s squirming on his lap and Steve’s breathless, hands trying to find a place to stop, but unable to. He wants to touch every inch of her skin, wants to memorize every sound that she makes when he does it. “Wanna go to my room?” Sharon asks him, and Steve nods, extremely eager and not hiding it. 

Grabbing his hand, Sharon tugs him after her towards her bedroom, the route familiar because it’s in the same location as Steve’s in his own apartment, right next door. She keeps looking back at him, sheepish, and it makes him smile, knowing that she’s just as anxious as he is. He’s not the only one that wants this so badly. 

Sharon tugs off her own shirt when they make it into her room, and she locks the door behind them, even though no one else is in the apartment. “It makes me feel safe,” she whispers, and then laughs. “I don’t know why I’m whispering.”

Steve can’t stop smiling, they both can’t, and he moves closer to press her against her bed. It’s at waist level, so he helps her hop up, his hands on her bare waist. Sharon wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer, her hands in his hair again. He likes it. He likes _her_. “Is it okay if I’m on top?” she asks him, and Steve gasps out a yes, wanting nothing more than Sharon Carter above him, all over him. “Let me just,” she pulls away, needing to do something, but then leans in to kiss him again, fast and hard. She finally moves off of her bed, in route to the dresser. 

She flashes her prize at him, and Steve’s mouth goes dry. Oh. They’re actually doing this. He makes himself comfortable on her bed, with its plain blue sheets, leaning against her headboard. His jeans are starting to feel a bit suffocating, but he won’t take them off until she asks. He wants this to be good for her. 

Sharon comes back and crawls on top of him, grinning, placing the condom somewhere by her side. She grabs his hands and immediately leads them to her bra clasp. 

Steve fumbles a bit, trying to unclasp it, but she doesn’t care. She rocks her hips against his, encouraging him, and Steve finally gets it open. Sharon throws it to the side. Steve gapes at her. “Can I— Is this—” he’s shell-shocked, half in love with her already. 

Sharon blushes, covering her face with her hands. Steve reaches up and tugs them away, and she leans into him. The press of her breasts against his bare skin is like a religious experience. An epiphany. “You’re the first person who’s ever asked me what I wanted, you know?” she murmurs. Steve wants to kill them, anyone who’s ever put a hand on her and didn’t ask. He curls a finger around a piece of her hair.

“They’re idiots,” he tells her. “All of them.” Sharon smiles and reaches for his zipper.

 

* * *

 

After, when they’re laying together, tangled limbs and all, unable to go more then a few seconds without touching the other, Sharon bursts into a spout of giggles. She buries her head into his shoulder, laughing uncontrollably, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she had just reassured him that he’d done okay, Steve would be nervous.

Instead he just lightly pinches her side, letting out a quick, “What?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she snorts, shoulders shaking, and he shakes his head at her in amusement. “I’m just—I just remembered when you thought that Tony and I were—” she lets out another howl, and Steve rolls his eyes. “We would never. I can’t believe it took you so long to realize. We could’ve done this so much sooner.” 

Steve shakes his head at her again. “I couldn’t even speak to you. I’m surprised it didn’t take ‘till senior year.” 

Sharon laughs again, smile lighting up her entire face, and leans in to kiss him again. 

“I’m so happy it didn’t.” 

Steve strokes her bare shoulder with his thumb. “Me too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> be gentle. i suck at writing smut. it's not even like, all the way or anything, but still. let me know what you think! if you recognize the song or the artist in the beginning, forgive me. i listen to an insane amount of pop country music.


End file.
